


Bad Case of Loving You

by Swing Set in December (swing_set13)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Doctors, Gangs, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-08-13
Updated: 2012-08-14
Packaged: 2017-11-12 01:44:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/485269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swing_set13/pseuds/Swing%20Set%20in%20December
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It must be sleep deprivation when Stiles thinks he's being wooed by a gang leader.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I filled my own prompt of Derek being a gang leader and Stiles being the med student on-call that treats him. I may have a problem. And what I know about the medical field is from Scrubs, House, Grey's Anatomy and that class I took on biomaterials. Oh and that one time I was in over night in the hospital, so not fun. So forgive any slip-ups. I know even less about gangs. Unless they're dance gangs from rom-coms.

“Jesus,” Stiles says taking in the tall order of tall, dark and surly cradling his arm in exam room five.

“So, kitchen accident?” he continues when the broody guy just glares. Good thing Stiles aced his boards. He can do surly and broody. Unresponsive is even better. His shift is almost over and he’s already dreaming of that on-call room bed. He called dibs. Dibs until the city buses started running again and he can go home to his matchbox apartment and drown himself in a shower and whatever takeout food that hasn’t mutated horribly since he was home last. Being an intern was arduous and a thankless job. But he loved it.

“I get how those knives can get slippery. But I get it. Ask me no questions, I tell you no lies,” snarks Stiles, pulling out the suture kit from the cabinet. “So let’s get this sucker stitched, eh? Derek?” he opens the chart. It’s always a good start to be friendly even though Stiles really wants to stitch and clock out.

It’s a Derek Hale by the sign-in. And some elegant as fuck handwriting. Makes Stiles chicken-scratch look illegible.

“Hale,” Derek bites out with a glare but Stiles passes that off to the face that the guy’s sweet as leather jacket is slashed beyond repair from the wrist to the shoulder, courtesy of the wicked knife wound. Stiles is going with knife wound. He grabs a seat on the exam room stool. 

“Yeah, yeah, Hale, Derek Hale, like double oh seven, I get you dude,” says Stiles, gingerly taking his arm to swab with disinfectant. Derek doesn’t even flinch, just bores his eyes into Stiles’ head. So not creepy at all.

“You don’t know who I am?”

“Uh, dude, you are my patient,” Stiles says and looks up with concern. “Shit, I didn’t check for a concussion. Quick, name the most recent Batman.”

Derek just stares at him blankly. Stiles is set to roll his stool over to get a flashlight when Derek’s uninjured arm grabs him, pining him to the exam table. “Don’t call me dude.”

Now it’s Stiles turn to blink. “Doctor-dude privilege,” counters Stiles. “And I am going to need that hand, I do my best work with my hands.”

Derek eyes shutter considerately before releasing Stiles’ arm with a nod, his gaze never straying from Stiles.

“Gr-eat,” sighs Stiles, getting the gel to numb the area but Derek waves him off. “Ok, going to be macho? This is going to hurt like a bitch, you know? You may cry. Like a manly tear. Don’t worry, I won't tell, I’m under oath.”

Derek bares his teeth in a facsimile of smile. Or maybe he is smiling. And just really bad at it. Like Stiles is at dancing. Except Stiles knows it. Maybe Derek needs to know. Maybe after the stitches come out. Just as long as Stiles is not there.

“Good talk,” says Stiles, focusing on the wound and letting everything fade out till it’s just him and the task at hand. He steadies Derek’s arm only once, impressive for a guy with a gaping wound.

“There, all stitched up. The clinic nurse will be here with the follow-up and will give your prescription,” says Stiles looking up at Derek and his assessing frown. “What? I am competent, you know. Med school and all that jazz.”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “Be nice to the nurse, they run this place,” says Stiles, tossing the bio-waste in the appropriate receptacle. “And no more culinary mishaps. Yeah?”

Derek looks contemplative. Like Stiles is interesting. Or weird. Stiles is leaning towards weird. “No thanks needed,” snarks Stiles before he hears his name on the intercom.

“Shit,” he mutters. “Duty calls.”

He nearly collides with Nurse Gina on his way out and misses Derek's eyes following him as the door swings closed. 

***

Stiles falls into a routine. Albeit a sleep-deprived one. But it’s still a routine. And a busy one such that he forgets all about the staring mcbroody surlypants until he walks into exam room four.

“Oh hey, new leather jacket, like the new look, less kitchen horror more grizzly bear attack,” he says rather than anything since Derek is bleeding onto the exam table from what appears to be a chest wound. Not super serious. Like no organs falling out. But it’s certainly staining his ComfortSoft Henley.

“So off with the shirt,” says Stiles. “Don’t be shy, we’re all gentlemen here. Well, I am. I open doors for everybody.”

“Do you ever shut up?” huffs Derek, wincing as he shucks out of his jacket and exposes his tone chest to Stiles’ clinical eyes. Well, Stiles is human, he does see the rocking eight back after he tallies the slash marks trailing down Derek’s abs.

“Nope, I am just a ray of sunshine,” grins Stiles and misses the contemplative look Derek shoots him when he turns to get the gauze and butterfly sutures.

"Just ask Danny, no wait scratch that, don't ask Danny. He's still got his boxers in a twist after I used cadaver parts to ask him out," continues Stiles, victoriously holding up the gauze.

"Cadaver parts?" bites out Derek with a surprised look. Like he's surprised he asked at all. Getting drawn into the conversation.

"I totally thought it would work, you know, I only have eyes for you? Like the song? Except no. But it did get Lydia to laugh. So bonus points there. I think it's a sign I should stick to women or work out some booty call rotation like the psych interns have. Because no one is getting laid less than - Doctor Harris!"

It takes all of Stiles' medical skill not to fumble on his stitch work that he's been working on Derek throughout the conversation. Even with Derek's breath ghosting down his shirt collar.

"Doctor Stilinski, may I remind you that this is not share time around the hormonal campfire," says Dr. Harris, jotting down something on his ever present clipboard before glaring at both Derek and Stiles and leaving in a swirl of white lab coat.

"Urgh, I will be paying for that one," sigh Stiles, tapping the gauze gently on Derek's chest. "Well, good as new, we really should stop meeting this way." He grins tiredly up at Derek before crackling a big yawn. "Gah, sorry, I missed my nap. Sexiled from the on-call room and hospital chairs aren't that comfy unless you can get three or four."

"You should sleep," Derek finally says.

"It speaks!" Stiles says, grasping his heart in shock. "Don't worry dude, you're my last patient tonight. It's just me and chart reviewing tonight. Maybe a Mets' game."

Derek nods jerkily before grabbing his ruined Henley.

"Nurse Gina should be in if she isn't spitting in Harris' coffee, so take care, dude," says Stiles, dumping his latex gloves in the bio-waste container.

"Don't call me dude," Derek says but there isn't any heat or so Stiles thinks. Except for the massive Carebear smoldering stare he is giving Stiles. One that looks like he wants to pick Stiles apart. Or maybe Stiles has been reading too many gift shop romance novels. Or it's his sleep deprivation. He once dry-humped a vending machine after a 72 hour shift. Lydia made a Facebook group for the video.

So it's an easy exit to the conversation when Nurse Gina turns up looking smug. The fist bump they share will make rounds the next day more bearable when Harris takes a big gulp of his coffee.

He misses the quiet look Derek has when he leaves. And the motley leather wearing crew camped out in the waiting room that whisper as he passes them to the snack machine.


	2. Chapter 2

Stiles is tired. Bone-weary and ready to make some sweet love to his twin bed. And respect it in the morning. Most definitely eat breakfast in it and not move for another eight hours. Of course that's when he's nearly mauled by a cat.

"Gah!" he screams in a manly way. Not shrill at all. "Get it off!"

He pinwheels around the foyer to his apartment, the cat digging into his shoulder.

"Stiles! Don't hurt her!" shouts Scott, appearing pull the hell beast from Stiles' shoulders and cradle it protectively.

"What the hell, dude?!" growls Stiles as the cat hisses.

"Don't hurt her!" chastises Scott.

"Her?! She was out for blood."

"She's part of my grade, Stiles. I can't let anything happen to Sugabottoms," says Scott.

Stiles scrubs his face in frustration with his hands. He may love his roommate like a brother from another mother but this is testing the limits of the Bro Code.

"It's only for a couple of days. You'll hardly know she's here," says Scott with a grin and the cat hisses.

"Ri-ght," drawls out Stiles. "I'm going to drown myself in the shower."

"Leave me some hot water, I have a date with Allison."

Stiles pauses in the hallway. "You're taking the cat, right?"

Scott shoots him a look.

"Oh no! I am a doctor, not your cat sitter, Scott," says Stiles, ducking back into their small living room. Scott jumps around the couch to avoid being tackled.

"Just think of her as a patient!"

"No!" shouts Stiles, running around the couch, chasing Scott.

They collide in the middle when Scott skids to a dead stop in front of the window looking out to the street.

"Gah!" yelps Stiles as Sugabottoms latches onto him again.

"Dude! Look at that motorcycle," says Scott reverently, ignoring Stiles flailing. Sugabottoms scampers away in favor of destroying the curtains.

"That is what you are looking at?" Stiles peers out of the window, a bike is idling across the street and when both Scott and Stiles look out the helmet wearing rider looks up, as if they can see them.

"Shit," yelps Scott ducking away leaving Stiles awkwardly standing in front of the window. The unknown rider peels away from the curb moments later.

"Well, that's not foreboding at all," Stiles murmurs, only to have Sugabottoms bite into his ankle.

"Son of a bitch."

"I think she likes you," says Scott.

Any thoughts of mysterious leather wearing bikers are forgotten in favor of checking for rabies.

***

Stiles is minding his own business in the intern locker room. And maybe not so subtly trying to see if he could get away with wearing yesterday's scrubs. He's eighty-five percent sure that the red stain is ketchup, not blood.

"Stiles!" chirps an overly friendly voice. It immediately sets off red flags in his head. Danger Stiles Stilinski, danger.

"Hey Lydia," he says, tugging down his shirt self-consciously.

"I need you to switch shifts with me," she says.

"And I need all my student loans to be paid," he retorts.

"I am serious," she says.

"So am I," replies Stiles.

"I know how much you love shift-switching, you made up a song about it," says Lydia, crossing her arms.

"You said you couldn't hear me," says Stiles, squinting at her in disbelief. "And you know Harris is out for my blood, after that cadaver fiasco."

Lydia rolls her eyes. "If you switch clinic hours with me, I will get you in on the neurosurgery next week with Morrell."

"Clinic?" groans Stiles. "I am supposed to review my notes tonight."

"And Jackson's finally getting a night off from his firm," counters Lydia.

Stiles pouts. It looks like everyone is getting some but him.

"Urgh, fine, anything to not be home alone with Sugabottoms," he groans into his locker in defeat.

"I am not going to ask," drawls Lydia.

"I am holding you to that surgery," says Stiles but when he looks up she's gone.

His stomach groans in protest when he sees that he'll be staffing the clinic from eight till two.

"Fuck my life."

***

Stiles is sharing clinic duty with Greenberg who always takes the late shift because he's up anyways and to avoid Finstock, their attending. Personally, Stiles doesn't mind Finstock, he doesn't play favourites like Harris, he hates everyone with the same vim and vigor. Stiles is still sure that Finstock doesn't know his name.

So he's set for a night of the odd and unexplained when he walks into exam room two. What greets him is a blonde bombshell of a girl in a low cut halter and tight leather pants.

"What seems to be the problem, uh," he says, looking down at his chart. "Ms. Reyes?"

The girl, just a couple of months older than him, shoots him a Cheshire smile.

"I have an ache, doctor," she drawls out. And Stiles gets the feeling he's missing something but kicks himself into professional diagnostic mode, ignoring her roving eyes and not so subtly remarks. He's sure this is some sort of test. Maybe Finstock's way of catching any untoward doctor-patient action because seriously, no girl in his whole life has looked at him like he was a chocolate double whip sundae. At least not when he's awake.

"Well, Ms. Reyes-"

"Call me Erica," she prompts for the eighth time.

"Right, Ms. Reyes," he says. "As far as I can tell, you're fine." He ran her through the basics. "Your slight nausea and dizziness is most probably due to the heat wave."

He can't, for the life, know how she has survived in a leather jacket and pants. Stiles melts every time he goes outside. He's dragged his mattress out on the fire escape for a small respite from the sweltering heat. It's been a hell of a heat wave. It takes forever to get to sleep outside. He's not paranoid enough to say he feels he's being watched but he'll be glad when the weather gets colder.

"Stay cool and drink fluids," he declares. "If there isn't any change, please come back."

"Doctor's orders?" she practically purrs.

Stiles blinks at her in confusion. "Uh, yeah, actually. Heatstroke is no laughing matter, Ms. Reyes," he cautions, seriously. Her eyes becomes more considerate. Stiles feels a flush creeping up his neck at her assessing look.

"I can see why he likes you," she grins before getting up from the exam table.

"What?" he balks but she's already waltzing out the door with a sway to her hips.

"Later, Doc," she laughs.

Stiles bites his bottom lip with a frown.

"I will never understand women," he mumbles, idly scratching at his neck.

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know if you enjoyed it!


End file.
